


The New Kid

by HannibalSolo



Category: Psych
Genre: F/M, Fluff without Plot, Reader x Lassiter, Reader-Insert, Reader/Lassiter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibalSolo/pseuds/HannibalSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A “Psych” marathon put me in a “Psych” kind of mood. Now, I adore Marlowe, but I saw Carlton first and loved him first! I just never got the chance to tell him…because that would LITERALLY be impossible ;) Moving on: here’s a Carlton Lassiter x Reader fanfic. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

—Interior. Chief Vick’s office.—  
“Detective, I am perfectly serious. This is not something you can argue. We have been granted an expansion of our resources, and part of that expansion includes hiring another junior detective. You will help train this new detective, and you will get over it,” Chief Vick said through her teeth. “Am. I. Clear?” She looked, deadpan, at Head Detective Carlton Lassiter, waiting for him to respond. His thin lips were pursed, attempting to restrain the smart or frustrated comments begging to be said.

“Fine. But don’t get mad at me if this incompetent neophyte screws up in the field and gets someone killed,” he spat. Vick blinked a couple times, looking perturbed.

“You are dismissed,” she said with an air of finality, shaking her head disapprovingly. Lassiter stomped out of the office.

—Exterior. SBPD Precinct.—  
You were walking up the steps of Santa Barbara’s Police Department, and you checked your watch. You were running late by a couple minutes, but you’d gotten a bit turned around on your way over from your new apartment. That would have to change. Your lack of familiarity with the area that is. You walked through the entrance, a knot of nervous energy settling in the pit of your stomach. 

The precinct had a decidedly orange vibe, as you checked in at the front desk, unable to keep your eyes from periodically roaming around the place. You were wearing dark-wash jeggings, a light-grey, 3-quarter-sleeve blazer over a Sex Pistols tank-top, and pewter-grey and black two-tone Vans. Your gun and badge were secured each against a hip, their weight familiar and comforting. Tentatively you walked, turning a corner and scanning the area. There were many desks and what appeared to be an office, presumably the chief’s, the doors of which were open. Various patrol officers, beat cops, and desk clerks milled about their daily business, as you straightened up your shoulders and cracked your neck, taking a deep breath, as you made your way to the chief’s office.

Juliet O’Hara spotted you looking around the precinct curiously and smiled. She glanced at her partner, who was sitting at his desk, looking like his usual petulant and grumpy self. “Hey, Carlton,” she called. He slowly brought his eyes up from the incident report on his desk, meeting her gaze and lifting an eyebrow expectantly. “I think that new Junior Detective is here.” She gestured to where you stood, obviously in the zone, cracking your neck and taking a deep breath before heading towards the chief’s office. Carlton took in the sight of you with mild curiosity.

“Huh,” he grunted. Juliet looked at him disbelievingly.

“Don’t you want to go say hi? Introduce yourself? You’re going to be training her after all,” she said. 

“Oh, yeah, then I was going to invite her to tea and to get our nails done,” he replied sarcastically with a mean grin. She glared at him, unfazed. 

“I’m serious, Carlton. Chief Vick is probably going to call you in there anyway, so you might as well go ahead.”

“I agree with whatever Juliet is saying.”

A handsome, boyish man with spiked brown hair and five o’ clock shadow approached the two detectives followed by an equally handsome man with skin the color of a cocoa nut. Carlton groaned and stood up from his desk. “What are you two yahoos here for?” he demanded.

“Ah, Lassie! I see you’re your usual perky self! And might I say your hair is looking immaculate like Omar Sharif in ‘Dr. Zhivago.’ I am here because the spirits demand that I be here. They tell me I’m needed, which, of course, is ludicrous because I am sensing you have added a new detective to the mix. Gus is simply here because he’s afraid of being alone, but won’t admit it,” said the brown-haired man. Gus clicked his tongue.

“Shawn!” Gus cried. 

“It’s okay, Gus. It’s a perfectly natural fear to have. But you’re not alone, buddy…Because no one is alone. No, no one is alone,” Shawn said. Juliet looked at him questioningly.

“Are you quoting…a Steven Sondheim musical?” she asked.

“Perhaps. It’s perfectly possible. I’m a complicated man, Jules,” Shawn replied.

“Alright, you know what? I think I’ll go make nicey nice with the new junior detective after all, if only to get away from you two buffoons,” Carlton interjected, taking long strides to the chief’s office.

“Buffoons, Lassie? Really?” Shawn called after him.

You had entered the office and immediately noticed the man sitting in the corner to your right and the woman, presumably Chief Vick, who sat behind the desk in the center of the room. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Chief Vick stood up from her seat, holding out her hand over the desk, and you quickly reached to take it. “Hello, you must be _________ __________. It’s good to meet you in person, detective. I’m your Chief of Police, Karen Vick and this is our department Consultant Liaison Henry Spencer.” You smiled in what you hope was a friendly way, turning to shake Henry’s hand after shaking Chief Vick’s. 

“Hey, there,” Henry said.

“It’s very nice to meet you both,” you said.

“Please, have a seat. You’ll be working at Junior Detective status and, as you already know, your retirement plan transferred properly. You’ll be training with—Ah, detective!” Vick cried out suddenly. An attractive, lanky man with salt n’ pepper hair walked into the room, looking like he wished he were just about anywhere else. His bright blue eyes assessed the situation.

“Henry. Chief,” he said, nodding to them respectively. He turned to look you over, startled to find that you were really rather pretty. He hadn’t really been paying attention before and he’d only glanced at you from afar. Up close your good looks were much more apparent. He noticed your Sex Pistols tank-top and wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. “You must be our new Junior Detective. I’m Head Detective Lassiter Carlton—Um, Carlton Lassiter. I’ll be training you,” he said, trying to hide his sudden nervousness because your eyes were a little distracting. 

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. I’m _________ __________,” you said, holding out a hand, which he took a bit too eagerly. His hand felt nice around yours, causing you to blush a little, which you hoped no one could really see. 

“Well, now that you two have met, you should get started right away,” Vick said. “Dismissed.”

You followed Lassiter out of the office, feeling excited and terrified. He turned to you. “First I’d like you to meet my partner,” he indicated a beautiful blonde woman, who was speaking with two casually dressed men. You followed Lassiter over to them. “This is Detective Juliet O’Hara. O’Hara, this my new dancing monkey, __________ ___________,” he said flippantly. Juliet scowled at him, giving you a smile and a handshake.

“It’s very nice to meet you, _________,” she said. “And don’t worry. He warms up…sort of.”

“Hello, __________! I’m Shawn Spencer. Head Psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department. This is my partner, Jericho Witness. Witness the magic of his shiny, black head,” said Shawn, reaching to touch Gus’ head, only to receive a resounding smack.

“Hello. My name is Burton Guster. You heard about Pluto?” Gus said smoothly. Lassiter rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically.

“No, I’m not having you two jackasses corrupting my trainee! Come along, _________, we’re going for a ride,” he said. He wouldn’t normally be bothered so quickly by Shawn and Gus’ antics, but for some inexplicable reason he felt a bit jealous over you already. That instant attraction was nagging at him. You were feeling a bit overwhelmed, trailing behind Lassiter as he exited the precinct and walked to a blue, four-door sedan parked meticulously close to the curb. However, there was one thing you fixed on.

“Your new dancing monkey?” you said incredulously. Lassiter paused, leveling his gaze on you over the top of the car, as you both stood at the open doors. “I might answer to you on the job, but I am no one’s dancing monkey, sweetie. Let’s just clear that up right away.”

“Sure, if saying that makes you feel better,” he said with a smirk, getting into the car. You slid into the passenger’s seat, working your jaw furiously.

“I have a master’s degree from Columbia, and I am Scotch-Irish. I am intelligent, and I don’t forgive. Capiche?” you said sweetly, but with an underlying edge. He looked at you with a pompously amused expression.

“Awww, you’re making a threat! That’s too adorable. Darn, I wish I’d had a video camera ready because it’s moments like that you should cherish,” he quipped.

“Oh, so not only do you write amazing books, but you make jokes too?” you said innocently. He looked perplexed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re James Joyce, aren’t you? Y’know, you looked better with the facial hair and the Harry Potter glasses.”

“You know what? You are making a very good case for me to put you on my crap list,” he spat, putting the car into gear and pulling out.

“Diddo,” you replied, glowering at him darkly, involuntarily thinking that his thin lips were really kissable and his blue eyes rather sweet and piercing. You were irritated by him and attracted to him at the same time. This new job was going to drive you nuts.

Little did you know, it was going to drive him nuts too...


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This turned out to be way longer than I originally intended, but that just means more Lassie for you guys, so congrats  I sincerely hope that this fic is enjoyable to you, and be warned: it is disgustingly fluffy ;)

The last couple months had been enlightening and maddening. You and the surly head detective didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and a lot of people thought the two of you hated each other. This wasn’t necessarily true. You both disagreed a lot and often very verbally, but ultimately you came to respect each other. Even if you weren’t always very good at showing it. “__________!” You jumped, almost spilling the cup of coffee in your hands, as you turned to glare at Carlton Lassiter. He approached your desk, a stack of thick manila folders in his hands and an evil smile plastered on his face. “I have a present for you,” he said in a sing-song voice, slamming the folders down upon your desk. You stared at it like it was a giant cockroach that had crawled up and started speaking to you. Then you returned your gaze to Lassiter, scowling darkly. He continued to grin, but you continued to scowl.

When it became apparent that you weren’t about to stop, the smile slid off of Lassiter’s face. Now, he looked unsettled, a bit scared. Then, very suddenly, you smiled. “Lassie, can I speak with you for a moment? Alone?” Before he could answer, you stood and grabbed him by the tie, dragging him into a nearby maintenance closet. Just across the way one patrol officer tapped the shoulder of another, pointing the scene out and cackling. 

“Looks like they’re finally going to kill each other,” he said to his companion. Then they both cackled. 

You let go of Lassiter to flick the light on, as he waited in stunned silence. Turning to him, you sighed. Gathering your thoughts, you put your hands on your hips. You held up a finger, signaling that you were about to begin. “Listen, Lassiter, you’ve had me on desk duty for two weeks now. I’ve been through enough files and case work to bleed out from all the paper cuts I’ve gotten. I think I’m developing an ulcer in my stomach. Thanks to your incessant onslaught of paperwork, I’ve barely been getting any sleep, and when I do sleep, I dream about doing paperwork! Except in my dreams, I get lucky and my paperwork comes to life and kills me. Between all of this, I’ve had no time to spend with my poor dog, and what I’m wondering is why the hell you’re doing this to me?” you huffed, feeling a clench in your throat from the suppression of tears that were urging to be released.

You refused to cry in front of Carlton Lassiter. Your pride couldn’t survive that sort of blow.

He looked down at you, fumbling for a response, waving his hands aimlessly. He finally pulled back, straightening up and composing himself with obvious effort. “If you’re struggling now, you might not be cut out to be a detective. I don’t know what else to tell you. Paperwork’s just part of the job. Have you ever considered a different line of work? Something a bit less challenging, like waiting tables or selling cosmetics?” he offered sarcastically. Now he’d done it. He’d really pissed you off. Like, officially. A growling sound erupted from the back of your throat, as you threw your hands in the air in a gesture of ultimate frustration. 

“Dear, God! You are insufferable!” you spat. 

“Oh? I’m insufferable? I’m insufferable!” he hissed, starting to get ticked too and edging closer unconsciously. “That’s rich coming from you of all people! You contradict me at every turn, you’re constantly undermining my authority, and it makes me look bad, dammit!” His scintillating blue eyes flashed furiously. 

“What? So, I’m being punished for having a mind of my own? And I do not make you look bad! You’re the only one who thinks that,” you retorted, stepping towards him and standing on your tiptoes to get in his face. He curled his lip and opened his mouth to give his reply, breathing heavily from the hot rage starting to course through his veins. You too were beginning to breathe more heavily as anger made you heart beat speed up.

Instead of replying, he closed his mouth again, realizing how close he was to you and feeling the warmth of your body so near to his with a new sort of awareness. His eyes zeroed in on your mouth, your lower lip puffed out defiantly. He swallowed forcefully.

You began to notice the new tension that had settled in too. Not a minute ago, you were about ready to strangle Lassiter. Now you were just as ready to rip his shirt off. You were still on your tiptoes, but your feet began to hurt and you lost your balance, stumbling into him, hands resting on his chest for support. His hands instinctively went to your waist to stabilize you, and you arched your back to look up at him. With your bodies so close, he couldn’t take it anymore. Lassiter’s arms quickly wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, as he moved one hand into your hair, forcing you to tip your face up to his. 

He smashed his lips down on yours, moving them with ravenous and demanding force. In response, you gasped and snaked your arms around his neck, reciprocating the kiss with equal ferocity and lacing your fingers in his hair. Your legs and hips pressed heavily against his, as you leaned into him completely, feeling the solid pressure of his badge digging into you, though you hardly registered it. 

The kisses began to slow down and take a more tenderly sensual turn. Yours and Lassiter’s ragged breaths comingled, as he broke away very slightly, pressing his forehead against yours. He took a deep, but shaky breath, swallowing again and blinking a few times, while refocusing his dreamy, dilated, glacial-blue eyes. “Would you, perhaps, like to get dinner tonight—y’know, with me?” he asked, his voice cracking from the effort it took to not start sucking on your earlobe. Your hands slid out of his hair and back to his chest, and you chuckled at his question, closing your eyes and nuzzling against him.

“Carlton, I would really like that. I’d like it even more if you’d let me out of desk duty and back into the field, so I can hunt down some outlaw and kick his or her ass. Think that could happen?” you asked matter-of-factly, tilting your gaze to meet his once more, only to find him grinning fiercely. 

“I think that could be arranged. And, at the risk of sounding immature, that’s so hot that you referred to a perp as an outlaw—Hey! You’re not a Clint Eastwood fan are you?” he excitedly blathered. “Because that would be s-so—”

“—Hot?” you interrupted, smiling.

“No, no. That would be downright sexy,” he replied.

“Hmmm…well, I’ll have you know that I am, in fact, a pretty big Clint Eastwood fan. I’ve seen most of his more famous films, and my favorite is either ‘Dirty Harry’ or ‘Hang ‘Em High.’ However, I regret to inform you of an extremely pitiful truth.” You paused, donning a mask of sobriety and sighing mournfully. “I have not yet seen… ‘Heartbreak Ridge.’”

Lassiter sputtered, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “What?” he managed to blurt. You nodded gravely.

“I know. I know. It’s a travesty for such an avid Clint fan, but you know,” you began, breaking into a wicked and seductive grin, looping your arms around Lassiter’s neck, finger stroking his nape lightly, causing the hair there to stand on end. “You could always correct this grievous injustice by changing the plan for tonight from just dinner to—” 

“—Dinner and a movie?” he interrupted, leaning in, brushing his lips against yours, and breathing in your scent reverently. 

“Yup,” you said bluntly, stealing a quick, chaste kiss, taking him by surprise. One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, thumb gently caressing your tingling, warm skin. 

“We’ve gotta piss each other off more often,” he said, then furrowing his brows and looking away. “That sounded better in my head.” You giggled.

“It’s okay, Carlton, I know what you meant. I am inclined to agree…” you said, trailing off and snuggling against him again like a content kitten. “I know we should leave this closet soon before someone comes to check on us, but we also need to come out of here obviously still miffed at each other, so no one suspects anything. Agreed?”

“Agreed. Alright, let’s make a plan…”

You both smiled mischievously at each other.

 

Shawn and Gus walked into the precinct, discussing the comparative merits of Ripley from “Aliens” versus Elizabeth Shaw from “Prometheus.” They were torn away from their extremely relevant subject by a sudden commotion, originating from the open door of a nearby utility closet. Lassiter was waving his arms about dramatically. “Fine, __________! Fine. You’re off desk-duty—for now! But that means you’re in the field—with me—which means that, as your superior officer, you have to follow my orders. Think you can manage that?” he spat at you. You scowled, forcing a sneer, as you resisted the urge to crack up. 

“Yeah, I think I can manage that just fine, sir. However, sir, if I happen to have a suggestion that might be helpful, sir, maybe, just maybe, you’ll be so condescending as to consider it…sir,” you retorted, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Well, on the extremely off chance that you suggest anything useful, I promise to take it under at least a small degree of consideration. But it’s highly unlikely that will happen,” he said, smirking venomously.

“Oh, thank goodness I got stuck with such a reasonable and approachable mentor,” you said, winking discreetly at Lassiter, as you both went to gather your things from your respective desks. He hid a genuine, lop-sided grin, grabbing his blazer from the back of his chair.

Shawn approached with Gus trailing behind, looking skeptically between you and Lassiter, bringing two fingers to his head in his signature gesture. “I am sensing some tension here. Perhaps you both could use some aura purification. Luckily, this is a service I can provide at a reasonable, flat-rate, if you’ll just swing by mine and Gus’s office to sign our standard hiring contract, which comes with a complimentary pack of Smarties and a one-use only pass to caress Gus’s sweet, sweet, magic head.” Gus looked startled.

“Shawn! Don’t go telling people they have permission to touch my head—well, YOU can if you want to, but that’s completely different,” Gus said, going from outraged at Shawn’s audacity to flirting with you within a matter of seconds.

You scoffed good-naturedly, rolling your eyes and shaking your head, as you threw back the remains of your luke-warm coffee with a grimace. You snatched up your blazer, throwing it on, as you checked over your gun and clipped your badge to its customary spot along your thin, black leather belt. “While I appreciate the thought, Shawn, my aura’s as pure as it’s ever going to be. And, Gus, though I recognize what an honor it is to have permission to touch your ‘magic’ head, I’m gonna have to pass. ‘Cause, I mean, why mess with perfection?” you offered light-heartedly. Gus grinned, brushing his thumb to his nose, while Shawn nodded.

“She has a point, man,” Shawn said.

“Oh, you know that’s right,” Gus replied. Finally, Lassiter sauntered over, grazing your arm as he passed, irritation etched on his face. 

“What do you two nimrods want anyway? There aren’t any cases for you. Therefore, you are not needed. Therefore, you can scram, as in right now,” he said sourly. Shawn just laughed, gripping Lassiter’s shoulder in a comraderic manner, while Lassiter looked at the offensive hand and disgustedly pried it off. 

“Lassie, Lassie, Lassie. You’re in a chipper mood, as usual. If you must know, we are here to get our check signed from our last case. I need these funds to start a foundation dedicated to discovering a cure for the horrible, immune-system ravaging disease that is currently annihilating poor, sweet Juliet from with—INNN! Also, we need more snacks because last night, in the middle of our ‘Sean Bean Must Die Marathon,’ we ran out, and it was traumatic to say the least. Gus began weeping hysterically, while I held him close to my bosom and soothed him by rubbing small circles on his back and speaking like Christopher Waulken,” Shawn ranted, as Gus glared at him, clicking his tongue.

“C’mon, son! You know that, that is not even close to true. For one, Juliet only has a small cold. She’ll probably be better by tomorrow. And two, Christopher Waulken is not soothing, maybe calming, but not soothing. There’s a difference,” Gus said pointedly. Shawn clicked his tongue, then Gus did too. They went back and forth like this repeatedly, until Lassiter rolled his eyes and shoved past them towards the exit. You raised your eyebrows and deftly swept around them, following Lassiter. Suddenly Shawn turned around, calling after the impatient head detective. 

“Lassie! Has anyone ever told you that you look like a young Robert Patrick from his role as Agent John Doggett on the ‘X-Files?’” Shawn asked nonchalantly. Lassiter narrowed his eyes, glaring at the psychic distrustfully. 

“No…why?”

“No reason. It’s just that you have so much in common. I mean, you both look alike and you both spend all your time pretending to solve crimes, that’s all,” Shawn said triumphantly. For a moment you were worried that Lassie was going to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius with hot, molten rage, but instead he unclenched his jaw and drew himself up, straightening his tie. 

“Whatever, Spencer. There’s a reason I’m head detective of this police department and you’re not. So, your childish barbs? They don’t affect me,” he said, grinning and walking away. You scratched your head for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. 

“Huh, weird,” Shawn grunted, pulling a face that was reflected back at him when he glanced at Gus. Before you could ponder this occurrence more deeply, Lassiter popped his head around the corner.

“You coming, _________?” he asked.

Shaking yourself, you nodded and followed after him, leaving the disgruntled duo behind. As you hopped down the front steps, you absent-mindedly pulled a piece of gum out of your pocket and popped into your mouth, chewing slowly. You slid into the passenger seat, examining Lassiter as he turned the key in the ignition and went to check his rearview mirror. He faltered when he noticed you staring. “What?” he demanded.

“How did you stay so calm back there? I thought you were going to throttle Shawn.”

“Believe me, the thought crossed my mind. But, most of the time, when Spencer pushes my buttons, I go to my happy place, which usually involves me imagining that I’m shooting a large number of small, woodland vermin,” he explained. “Today that fantasy just wasn’t cutting it, so I had to imagine something else.” He went silent, pulling his seatbelt on and clicking it in. It seemed that he was just going to leave it at that, which was unacceptable.

“So?” you prompted. He dead-panned, appearing to have no clue what you were getting at. “So, what did you imagine today that worked so well?”

He drummed his fingertips along the steering wheel, pursing his lips and shaking his head, gazed fixed on his lap. “Nothing. Well, not nothing. It may or may not have involved you and I, sitting together on my couch, watching ‘Heartbreak Ridge,’ while I kissed several undisclosed locations on your body,” he said, finishing in a rush. You felt a wave of heat flash up from your stomach and into your cheeks and sternum. He glanced at you furtively, waiting anxiously for your response.

“Oh, well,” you started, laughing nervously. “Kissing me better than killing fuzzy animals dead? Carlton,” you said breathlessly, but with a lop-sided smile. “No talking dirty at work.”

THE END

 

Epilogue:

“Thank you for dinner, Carlton. It’s sexy when a man knows how to cook, especially since I don’t,” you said, waggling your eyebrows at Lassiter from over your shoulder, as you sauntered to the couch. He grinned proudly.

“Well, I have many hidden talents, and if you play your cards right, I might share them all with you,” he replied, coming up from behind you and tracing a hand down your arm until it enclosed around your own hand, gently lifting it to his thin, shapely lips. He gave it a soft kiss, eyes shining with happiness and excitement. Gently he pulled away, turning to set the movie up, while you got situated on the plush, yet firm couch, which reminded you of Lassiter’s mouth, stern, but capable of moulding into delicate and sensuous forms.

He finished setting the movie up, making his way over to you with the DVD remote in hand. He settled onto the couch, nervously stretching his arm over the cushions behind you. There was a twisting knot in your stomach, so you could sympathize with his uneasiness. Part of this was due to the fact that things felt so natural between you two that it was a bit jarring. It was all moving pretty quickly, but somehow, beneath the surface anxiety, it still felt good. More than good, really. It felt right.

Half an hour into the movie, you finally mustered the courage to move closer to Lassiter, leaning into his chest, noticing some hair poking out from the dip in his casually-buttoned dress-shirt with a small smile. You breathed in his manly, alluring scent with a dizzying headiness (it was something like fresh laundry mixed with pine forest). He didn’t immediately respond, a bit surprised, but then he smiled, a quiet, affectionate kind of smile, throwing an arm around you, his thumb tracing circles on your shoulder. You felt his lips and the tip of his nose graze the crown of your head, his breath tickling your scalp. Your heart sang, and you closed your eyes briefly, until you felt Lassiter’s warm breath shift, now grazing your ear. “Hey, you’re missing the movie.”

THE REAL END


End file.
